


Redress

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Father/Son Incest, Finwë had problems too, M/M, Son Issues, Vaguely AU, We all know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Formenos, Finwë has only one thing in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redress

“I said that none of the people who currently reside here will travel with you to Taniquetil for the festival. That includes my son,” Finwë enunciated, his booming voice echoing off the thick stone walls of the keep, icier than the snow flurries that swirled over the mountains of Formenos.

Fëanáro looked down at the messenger – a member of Ingwë's household, bearing his emblem on his coat – as if he were the lowliest of servants, a faint smirk cracking the grimness of his countenance.

The man kept shifting where he stood in the middle of the room, helplessly looking around. Formenos was not as bleak as it was assumed in other parts of Valinor, but he found the place – the mountains, the walls, the low domed roofs – stifling. The glares pinned to his back by Fëanáro's sons didn't alleviate his plight, his inability to prevail upon Finwë's unprecedented obduracy. “But Manwë ordered -”

“None of the people of Formenos will travel to Taniquetil so long as Melkor, the root of all our misery, is free to come and go as he pleases, whereas my son is bound to the Valar's whims. None of the people of Formenos will, unless Manwë proves that he is indeed King of Arda and rids the world of the wickedness of his brother.” 

Finwë's face hardened, as if he were keeping a long-brewing anger under control only by a great effort. His hands clenched around Fëanáro's arm, which he held in his lap. 

Father and son sat together on a large throne. The messenger was deeply disturbed by their excessive proximity, which went against Eldarin customs and basic rules of propriety. Fëanáro was dressed in simple work clothes, and Finwë didn't bear any token of his royal status either, which, combined with their posture, highlighted the resemblance, in mood as in looks, between them.

“Dismissed,” Finwë spat.

The Vanya tarried, as a quivering dread seized him. “How am I supposed to relay this message to the Powers?”

“In Quenya or Quendya, it makes no difference to me.”

“But -”

“Valarin even, should you be more at ease doing so,” Finwë jibed. “Dismissed.”

“Your Majesty, I beseech you -” the man began again, but he realised that however he begged, he would merely make a fool of himself. A glance at Fëanáro discouraged him from appealing to his family ties to Indis, too. 

Finwë stared at him fiercely enough to make him slowly walk back and out of the room, together with his two attendants. 

“We'll be outside,” Tyelcormo said before closing the doors.

Finwë nodded to him, and turned to Fëanáro, relieved to erase from his mind that detestable intrusion from a world he wished would simply cease to exist. He lifted a hand to Fëanáro's left cheek, letting his fingers crawl to his nape. His expression softened, and the change was mirrored on Fëanáro's face. “I won't let them have you. I won't let them hurt you.”

He captured Fëanáro's mouth in a passionate kiss, pinning him against the back of the seat with all the weight of his body.

Fëanáro couldn't reply anything, and wouldn't have even if his father's tongue hadn't been sliding against his own in his mouth. It was still a new sensation, the gladly received and all too ripe fruit of the exile.

Finwë couldn't have been more grateful for it.

It was as if the distance between Formenos and Tirion (and the Valar and the Trees and everything and everybody else) had finally cut the last strings that kept them tied to a life of falsehoods. 

Finwë had tried to ignore his true desire, had tried to smother it under a veil of normalcy, for a long time. He had needed Indis to beget more children, because he had soon realized that he didn't see his firstborn as a son. (He also had, sometimes, been resentful. His fire had drained his mother, and it threatened to devour him too, though in a completely – voluptuously – different way).

He had been a dutiful husband, but he had never been a good father. Not to Fëanáro, because he had hurt him by remarrying, condemning his mother to eternal death for it. (Because he betrayed him and his own love for him every time he took Indis to his bed). Not to his other children, because they existed only to hide his true desire, and prove to the world and to himself (but above all to himself) that he was a good man, a man who didn't lust after his own son and thought of him incessantly, consumingly.

He had never taken into consideration the possibility that Fëanáro could return his feelings. That his efforts had not righted a wrong, prevented an abomination, but simply begotten misery and strife where there would have been none. 

Because Fëanáro loved him with a love that knew no restraints, subjected to no definitions and no controls (a love that was like he was).

The capriciously meddling Valar had unwittingly given them the perfect occasion to finally unfurl that love, fulfill it, and if his newfound sincerity didn't make him a good man, it did make him a more honest one.

A happier one, as he slid down from the throne to his knees. Fëanáro's eyes stared at him wide and soulful, as if he wanted to stop him for reverence, but he smiled up at him. It was a way to make up for all the time he had neglected him, it was only a tiny fragment of the love Fëanáro deserved from him. 

He pulled down the hem of his pants and undergarments, and took out his cock. Formenos was cold, but the heat of Fëanáro's skin bathed his face as he brought it down to kiss the tip. The heat drifted on his tongue as he licked. He closed his eyes, because he didn't need to see, because when he did it was just Fëanáro's scent, his warmth, and the dulcet sounds of pleasure that swelled his own contentment more than everything else.

The first crest of that pleasure poured forth and passed, and he reopened his eyes to see Fëanáro slumped against the throne, basked in bliss. He licked his lips, tasting a remnant of his essence on them. He rose, and gently picked him up, cradled him in his arms like he hadn't for many many years after Míriel's death, and carried him to their bedchamber.

In the bed they shared, it was the pounding of Fëanáro's heart under his hand that spurred each jab of his hips. 

“I love you,” he vowed, “I won't leave you ever again”, “I won't let you be sad”, “I won't let them hurt you” – with faltering breath, but with all the strength of his thrusts and the unremittingness of the pulse against his palm.

Fëanáro's hand came to rest on his own, and his head lolled back on the pillow, leaving his neck exposed for him to mark.

He did, suckling on the stretched skin while his mind took over in the iteration of his vows, and he surrendered himself body and soul to the fire.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose to make this AU because I couldn't cope with the fact that Finwë is dead soon after this in canon (this ship hurts a lot in general).
> 
> This goes with the version where Finwë remarries when Fëanor is a teen.


End file.
